From when I was young it chased me

Underneath my skin and filled the steel frames

I’ve heard that cities are tiny demons with

oils of yellow and white goodness.

Like a liquor split from a coconut

I am the child in the green overalls dancing in the reflection of a blank TV screen.

So cotton wisps fed her every once in awhile

And Man loved her too.

Her Eyes, Black like Susans

telling stories from before.

She made me a game of Cat’s Cradle and they deemed it as radical fashion.

She was a trunk for her core

and I was born on the tip of my mother’s tongue.